Forget In Four
by dante de cervantes
Summary: Blair questions her friendship with Serena. If one could call it a friendship to begin with… BS.


**TITLE:** Forget In Four

**AUTHOR: **dante de cervantes

**FANDOM:** Gossip Girl (TV series)

**RATING:** T

**PAIRING:** Blair/Serena

**Disclaimer:** I wanna own them. But as of now, I don't. How sad…

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** should totally shag each other senseless. If I owned them anyway, which I don't (refer to disclaimer). So I hope you enjoy this. Though it's probably not as good as the other Waldsen fics. But a Waldsen fic is totally worth a shot. So read it and please review!!!

**Forget In Four**

"_S? I think I have feelings for my best friend."_

Actually, you've never really told her what you felt.

You just thought that that was how you were going to say it to her.

You know, the day your brain malfunctions.

And chances of the happening are just as slim as Eleanor Waldorf ordering take out from Wendy's.

But what the heck, Blair Waldorf was _**crazy**_ about Serena van der Woodsen.

So maybe the chances weren't _that_ slim.

**1111111111111111111111**

You believed that you weren't ever going to lose her. So you never worried about telling her anything because you were confident that she was never going to leave.

You've been like… planned since birth to be the best of friends, always together and all.

So you expected for her to be there forever.

Well, being realistic everyone dies. But you know… _that_ kind of forever.

And you, you'd be okay with that, filling the 'best friend' spot that every It-Girl needs to keep that sparkling image.

She sparkled all right, enough to make you blind.

She didn't mind your meticulous scrutiny and you couldn't care less if her school tie looked like she just threw it (the one she loosened, yanked off, and left on her dresser the afternoon before) over her neck, not actually bothering to _tie_ it. Which totally defeated the purpose but then again, you couldn't care less.

The both of you were inseparable. Something your mom and Mrs. Van der Woodsen would say constantly to the other parents at Constance Billard, showing off their beauty queens of daughters to the less-privileged (whose annual income was just _four_ zeroes short of theirs).

Whatever bond the both of you had, that kept you together, you relied on it. Probably more than you knew you did.

**1111111111111111111111**

_Prolonged eye-contact._

_Badly-aimed kisses to the cheek._

_Back-seat banter, that if recorded and played over again, would sound like flirting, dead on. Imagine the thoughts that must've ran through the chauffeur's head. You were surprised that he hasn't crashed into a taxi yet._

_The phone calls. "Is that Nate?" your mother would ask after seeing you smile like… a dork probably._

_You wouldn't even dance in a club with her for fear of losing it. Van der Woodsen grinding is not an option if Waldorf sanity wants to remain intact. So you sit safely at the bar, sipping martinis and chewing olives. Trying not to watch as some random boy slides his hands over her in all the wrong places._

_Heads, propped on elbows. Elbows, propped on the bed. The both of you let the fingers of your free hands toy with each other while talking about ._

Then, the excuses that came from either party.

_**New mascara?**_

_**Not my fault, **_**YOU**_** moved your head.**_

_**Since when did we become an old married couple? **_

…which would be followed by a very awkward silence…

_**Yeah mom, it is… Hey S, gotta go, dinner. Call you later? K, Bye… I love you too.**_

_**The music sucks.**_

_**Your hand's getting all **_**perspired**

Sometimes you go to bed at night and realize those are what you wake up in the morning for.

Especially on the Sundays. You loved Sundays.

**1111111111111111111111**

'Traditions' she calls them.

Breakfast at Blair's: Audrey Hepburn, your bed, and her croissant-flaked lips.

Croissant was already a guilty heaven in itself. Your mother wouldn't even approve it being served in the finest of China. How much more if there were bits of it sprinkled across a certain van der Woodsen's mouth?

Well, if it helped, her mouth _was_ in fact, the finest of New York.

And it never occurred to you just how much you wanted to lick anything off of anyone.

And honestly, you've started to want to kiss her after the both of you discovered the French pastry. To hell with the fat content.

And maybe you should try and make your own lip gloss flavor. Make it coincidentally taste like croissants and her lips.

That would have been a very brilliant idea, except for the fact that you didn't actually know what her lips tasted like.

All you knew was that you'd like to find out on a Sunday.

**1111111111111111111111**

She was torturing you and she didn't even know it.

So naive.

So fucking pretty, beautiful, amazing, head-turning, drop dead- wake up just to drop again gorgeous... might as well make a list of words that _don't_ describe her, since that would be easier if there were a ton more positive adjectives than the cons.

But it was all a matter of perspective.

And sometimes it turns in your favor when S gets naughty and downs a bottle of champagne in one sitting.

Because she's too drunk to notice that spooning you that close to her in your bed just isn't what BFFs do.

Neither is nuzzling your neck. And letting her lips trail all over it, making a map on pale Waldorf snow.

In the morning, you try and act like a good best friend and never mentioned what happened the night before. Because she wakes up and you know that she forgot about everything.

She thinks she has all of it down and marked at dusk, but the next day, she's going to find out it snowed again. And the new fallen flakes cover her handiwork, whether you wanted it to be forgotten or not.

The map she drew on your neck that would've led you to her, gone with the last traces of darkness.

**1111111111111111111111**

Despite the fact that it hurt sometimes, she was still a hard habit to break.

Really, so hard that you went off and just quoted Chicago.

If words were pictures, and if you were asked to describe your link with S, your photo album would basically be… oh-so-empty.

The indescribable relationship you had, that was all you needed really, even though it was unspeakable and forbidden to be defined into words.

Only let out through subtle visual and physical undertones that one hoped the other would hear, though the beckoning is softer than a lover's whisper.

Perhaps the whisper was that of a best friend who _should_ be a lover?

**1111111111111111111111**

The both of you... smoldered.

Burned slowly and gently, but burned nonetheless.

But that suppression can only get you so far. There are those times when an unexpected gust of wind fans the flames, leading to a high heat of the malicious kind.

To arson.

And guess who the arsonist is...

Oh, and she burns bridges too.

'Boarding School. Conneticut.'

That wasn't a very fair farewell now was it, Serena? Not even bothering to say goodbye.

Just like that, she left.

And she took the sun with her.

Not being able to see her, to _touch_ her anymore.

And your world just turned dark and crumbled.

Particularly at the possibility of her never coming back.

That just kills you.

And you regret every day since you admitted to yourself that you kind of (_Kind of_? Understating much, Blair?) loved her like she was in that ambiguous place of clichéd platonic and romantic...

Who were you kidding?

You finally fell from that thin tight-rope of a line, and it so happened that you landed in the more _complicated_ zone.

You were so _totally_ in love with her.

Now if you only told her that a month ago.

You know, when you still had the chance to…

Back when you could've just leaned your head across the bed, towards hers. So your lips and hers (conveniently covered in croissant) could be acquainted…

On a Sunday.

And then you stop yourself. Getting your hopes all high again then cry at night because she failed to call again.

It's not like she's coming back, Blair.

Yeah, it looked like she wasn't.

It was getting too old anyway.

Which is exactly why Nate Archibald was picking you up in four minutes.

He took your mind off of her… sometimes.


End file.
